ASOIAF INFO

From the Wiki of Ice and Fire:

Maekar: Some men will say I meant to kill my brother. The gods know it is a lie, but I will hear the whispers till the day I die. And it was my mace that dealt the fatal blow, I have no doubt. The only other foes he faced in the melee were three Kingsguard, whose vows forbade them to do any more than defend themselves. So it was me. Strange to say, I do not recall the blow that broke his skull. Is that a mercy or a curse? Some of both, I think. Duncan: I could not say, Your Grace. You swung the mace, m'lord, but it was for me Prince Baelor died. So I killed him too, as much as you.

The sheer, unexpected logic of it stunned you into silence. Before you could formulate a retort, he was sauntering over to Valarr, his posture a study in nonchalant authority.

You saw Valarr’s initial frown, his instinctive shake of the head, and then Aerion’s low, persistent murmuring. Finally, Valarr sighed, a long-suffering exhalation of breath, and tossed the keys to his cousin.

Kiera was less easily persuaded. “Absolutely not,” you heard her say, her voice high and sharp. “I’m his girlfriend. I sit in the front.”

“Kiera, my sweet,” Aerion purred, his voice dripping with a venomous charm. “Your dedication to aural torture is an act of war against humanity. Our dear friend here is turning the shade of a Dornish olive. She gets the front, she doesn’t get a choice, and you can deafen Daeron all you like. He’s practically comatose. It’s a victimless crime.”

Before Kiera could launch a full-scale offensive, Valarr placed a placating hand on her arm. “It’s just for a bit, love. Let’s not have anyone vomit on the leather.” Defeated, Kiera huffed and threw herself into the backseat, her perfectly glossed lips set in a mutinous pout.

You climbed into the passenger seat, still slightly bewildered. The cabin felt different from this vantage point. Aerion adjusted the seat, the mirrors. He pulled out of the service station with a smooth, controlled confidence that was, you had to admit, a stark contrast to Valarr’s more cautious, rule-abiding style. He wasn’t speeding, but he drove with a fluid grace, weaving through the slower traffic on the Kingsroad with effortless ease.

And he was right. From the front seat, the nausea receded. You could breathe.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, not looking at you. His eyes were fixed on the road, the late-morning sun catching the silver-gold of his hair.

“Much,” you admitted, the word tasting like a surrender.

“Good,” was all he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched. From the backseat, Kiera’s pop playlist was now a muffled, tinny warble, and Daeron had, miraculously, remained asleep, his head now resting against Kiera’s rigid shoulder. She looked like a cat that had been forced into a bath.

When Valarr took over driving duties again after lunch, a sense of normalcy resumed. Kiera was reinstated in her rightful throne, her mood visibly improving as she queued up a new, even more aggressively cheerful album. You were back in the familiar, queasy territory of the backseat, with Aerion sliding in next to you.

This was when the real torment began. Not from the nausea, which was a dull, persistent throb, but from Aerion. He had an uncanny ability to fill the space he occupied. He didn’t just sit next to you; he loomed, a constant, crackling presence. He’d lean in, his breath a warm ghost on the shell of your ear, just to make a disparaging comment about a song Kiera was playing, so quiet only you could hear.

“If I hear one more synthetic drum beat, I’m grabbing Valarr to make him swerve into oncoming traffic,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing your skin. A shiver, entirely unrelated to nausea, skittered down your spine.

“Don’t do that,” you hissed.

“What? Whisper? Would you rather I broadcast my suicidal ideation to the whole car? Kiera would just play something by an artist with a name made of punctuation marks in response. It would make it worse.”

He was an incessant, maddening pest. He’d comment on the passing scenery in a running, low murmur: scathing critiques of a cow’s posture, a conspiracy theory about a lone farmhouse, a sudden, recitative poem about a particularly ugly roadside billboard. He plucked at a loose thread on your sleeve, his fingers brushing your arm with a deliberate, fleeting touch. He’d find a barely-there smudge on the window and lean across you to point it out, his scent filling your senses.

“Do you ever stop?” you finally ground out, turning your head to glare at him. Your faces were inches apart. His violet eyes were alight with mischief, a dancing, silver fire.

“No,” he said simply. “Not when something is this entertaining. Your jaw gets so tight when you’re annoyed. It’s like watching a very stubborn clam.”

“I am not a clam.”

“Prove it. Unclench.”

“I swear to the gods, Aerion…”

And yet, underneath the annoyance, a bewildering puzzle was taking shape. He wasn’t just needling Valarr, or showing off. His entire, irritating focus was trained on you.

It was in the way his eyes would find yours in the rearview mirror when you leaned forward to talk to Valarr. It was in the way he’d offer you his unopened bottle of water without a word, a silent replacement for your own warm one.

A few weeks ago, at a disastrous garden party at the Red Keep, you’d had one too many Dornish reds and lamented to anyone who would listen, which had turned out to be Daeron’s sympathetic ear, that boys were a confusing, alien species and that you were clearly broadcasting some sort of universal ‘Do Not Date’ signal. You’d been mortified to see Aerion leaning against a pillar nearby, a glass of his own wine held loosely in his hand, a strange, inscrutable look on his face. You’d assumed he was just silently judging your pathetic romantic history.

Now, in the close, quiet hum of the SUV, with the afternoon sun streaming in and Daeron’s soft snores as a soundtrack, Aerion leaned in again. But this time, his whisper wasn’t a joke.

“You know,” he murmured, his gaze intense, holding yours. “For a girl who keeps lamenting her inability to be noticed, you are phenomenally, spectacularly blind.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks. Before you could ask, before you could even breathe, he leaned back into his own seat, turned his head to stare out the window, and didn’t say another word for the next fifty miles. His silence was even louder than his whispers.

The inn Valarr had booked was a place that promised old-world charm and delivered it in the form of creaking floorboards and the faint, persistent smell of woodsmoke. The dinner was a loud, chaotic affair, with Valarr and Kiera bickering lovingly over the itinerary for the next day, Daeron valiantly trying to stay awake through his soup, and Aerion picking at his food, contributing only the occasional sardonic, devastatingly accurate observation. You were quiet, the echo of his words in the car still thrumming in your chest. Spectacularly blind. It felt like an accusation, a challenge, and a confession all at once.

Room keys were distributed. Valarr and Kiera, one room. Aerion and Daeron, another. And you, blissfully, mercifully, a single. Your room was small and cozy, tucked under the eaves, with a sloping ceiling and a window that looked out over the dark, silent expanse of woods. You went through the motions of getting ready for bed, washing your face, pulling on your softest, oldest pajama shorts and a tank top. But sleep was a distant, unreachable shore. You lay in the lumpy bed, staring at the moon cast shadows on the ceiling, replaying every touch, every whisper, every loaded glance from the day. Your back ached, a dull, persistent knot between your shoulder blades from the hours of being tensed up in the car.

It was close to midnight when the knock came. A soft, insistent rap of knuckles on the old wood of your door. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew who it was before you even got out of bed. You padded across the cold floor and opened the door a crack.

Aerion stood in the dim hallway, a picture of disgruntled misery. He was wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt, his silver-gold hair an unruly mess. He looked nothing like the perfectly coiffed, arrogant heir. He just looked annoyed. And unfairly beautiful.

“Daeron,” he said, as if the name were a curse, “is a violent sleeper. He kicks. He’s currently executing a spinning back-kick in his dreams and has taken possession of the entire duvet. It’s a crime scene. Scoot over.”

It wasn’t a question. You were too tired, too sore, and too full of nervous, electric energy to argue. You opened the door wider, and he slipped inside, filling the small, quiet space with his restlessness. You climbed back into the narrow bed, clinging to the far edge, and pulled the covers up to your chin. He walked to the other side, and with a heavy, world-weary sigh, he lay down on his back on top of the duvet, his hands folded over his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

“My back is killing me,” you mumbled into the dark, a pathetic offering to break the tense silence. “I must have slept on it wrong in the car.”

He turned his head on the pillow to look at you, his profile etched in the silver moonlight. “Where?”

“Between my shoulder blades. It’s just a knot.”

“Roll over,” he commanded.

Your breath hitched. “What? No.”

“Don’t be a child. Roll over. I’m an expert. I have a horse,” he said, as if that explained everything.

With a defeated sigh, partly born of genuine pain and partly of a morbid, dizzying curiosity, you shifted onto your stomach, hugging the pillow. The bed dipped as he moved, and then you felt the heat of him as he sat beside you. His hands, when they landed on the bare skin of your shoulders, were warm and surprisingly gentle. His thumbs found the epicenter of the pain, a knot of pure, knotted steel right next toyour spine, and pressed.

A gasp, half-pain, half-relief, escaped you. He worked in silence for a moment, his touch firm and knowledgeable, kneading the tension away with deep, circular strokes. His fingers were long and deft, and they seemed to know exactly where to apply pressure. The pain began to dissolve, replaced by a spreading, liquid warmth that was far more dangerous.

Then, his touch changed. It was no longer therapeutic. His hands stopped their firm, purposeful kneading and began to wander. A slow, exploratory slide of his palms down the sides of your ribcage, just over the thin cotton of your tank top. The pads of his fingers traced the knobs of your spine, one by one, in a slow, reverent descent. The air in the room thickened, charged with an unspoken question.

“Aerion…” you breathed into the pillow, your voice a shaky, muffled thing. It was meant to be a protest, but it sounded like a plea.

His hand stilled on the small of your back. Then, he shifted his weight. You felt him move, leaning over you, his body a wall of heat along your side. One hand came up to gently brush the hair away from your neck. His lips, when they pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, were searing.

“You are,” he murmured against your skin, punctuating each word with a soft, deliberate kiss along your jawline, “the most. Infuriatingly. Blind. Woman. I have. Ever met.”

And then he was kissing you. Properly. He turned your head with a finger under your chin, and his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t a gentle, tentative first kiss. It was demanding, a kiss that had been waiting to happen all day, maybe for years. It tasted of frustration and sharp, silver fire.

You melted into it, a gasp swallowed as your lips parted, your body betraying every sensible thought you’d ever had. You twisted around to face him, your arms snaking up around his neck, your fingers tangling in the fine, soft hair at his nape.

The kiss deepened, a frantic, desperate tangle of tongues and breath. He made a low sound in his throat, a sound of pure triumph, and his body pressed you down into the mattress.

His hand, which had been resting on the curve of your hip, began a slow, torturous migration downwards. It slid over the flimsy material of your pajama shorts, his fingers tracing the crease where your thigh met your hip, and then, with a devastating pressure, he ground the hard, unmistakable length of his erection against your thigh.

A choked moan was lost in his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, his body a delicious, heavy weight against yours. He was all heat and hard muscle, and the friction of the thin layers of clothing between you was a sweet, agonizing torment. He rocked against you, a slow, sinuous rhythm, his mouth never leaving yours, his tongue emulating the motion of his hips.

His hand slipped from your hip to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers teasing the bare skin of your stomach just above it. A question, a final, silent request for permission. You arched your back in answer, a silent, desperate yes. His hand slipped inside, his long fingers delving through the thatch of curls to find your slick, aching core. You were soaked, embarrassingly, gloriously wet, and the knowledge of it only seemed to inflame him further. A ragged groan tore from his chest.

He swallowed the sound of your sharp cry as one deft finger, then two, slipped inside you, curling upwards to stroke a spot that made stars detonate behind your eyes. All the while, the heel of his hand ground against your clit, a steady, brilliant pressure.

He drank down every whimper, every frantic, half-formed moan, as if they were fine wine. He played you like an instrument he’d mastered a lifetime ago. The world shrank to the feel of his hand, his mouth, his heavy, wanting weight. You were climbing, hurtling towards a shattering peak, when he suddenly tore his mouth from yours and his hand stilled.

His forehead was pressed against yours, his chest heaving, his violet eyes black with dilated pupils in the dim light. His expression was a mask of agonized frustration.

“Fuck,” he swore, the word a ragged, desperate whisper. “I don’t have…they’re in my backpack. In the other room.”

A half-hysterical laugh bubbled up in your throat at the sheer, ridiculous, Aerion-like nature of the problem. “Go,” you commanded, your voice thick and unfamiliar to your own ears. “Quickly.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He was off the bed and out the door in a second, leaving a cold, aching void in his wake. You lay there, breathless, trembling, your body a riot of unfulfilled sensation. The seconds stretched into an eternity.

And then he was back, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. He didn't speak. He just shed his clothes, the moonlight painting the long, lean lines of his body in shades of silver and shadow.

He was a masterpiece of pale skin and taut muscle, and his arousal stood proud and demanding from a nest of pale curls.

He was on you in a heartbeat, the foil packet discarded on the nightstand, his naked body a searing, perfect weight.

He nudged your thighs apart with his knee and settled between them. He guided himself to your entrance, and then he was pushing inside you, a single, deep, merciless thrust that filled you completely. A gasp, torn from the very core of you, was smothered by his mouth. The feeling was overwhelming, thick, hot, and impossibly deep. He gave you only a moment to adjust, a single, shuddering pause as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with a fierce light. And then he began to move.

It wasn’t gentle. It was a thorough, devastating fucking, a frantic, driving rhythm that was a direct physical manifestation of all the day’s frustrations and teasing. The headboard knocked against the old wall with a rhythmic thud. He fucked you on your back, your legs hitched high over his hips, his mouth a frantic, hot brand on your throat, your collarbone. He swallowed your cries, your litany of broken syllables that might have been his name.

You shattered with a broken scream, the climax tearing through you with the force of a storm, inner muscles clenching around him in a furious, fluttering rhythm.

The sensation pushed him over the edge. He followed you with a guttural, shameless groan of your name, buried deep inside you, his body going rigid, every muscle a corded line of tension, before he collapsed, a delicious, trembling weight.

But he wasn’t finished with you. Not nearly.

He pulled out, and the loss was a sharp bereavement. But before you could even catch your breath, his hands were on your hips, guiding you, flipping you onto your stomach.

“Up,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sex, his palm smoothing over your spine. “On your knees.” You complied, limbs pliant and

obedient, sinking onto your forearms, presenting yourself to him.

He ran a proprietary hand over the curve of your arse, squeezing, kneading the soft flesh as if he owned it. He pressed a kiss to the small of your back, a surprisingly tender gesture amidst the carnality.

Then you heard the rip of another foil packet, and a moment later, he was blanketing your back with his chest, his body pressing you into the mattress. One arm snaked around your waist, pulling your hips up to meet his. He notched himself at your entrance from behind and thrust home again, a single, slick, deep stroke.

This angle was deeper, more primal. He wasn’t just fucking you, he was surrounding you, his chest a warm, solid wall against your back, his breath a hot, ragged pant in your ear.

His hips found a slower, more devastating rhythm, a deep, circular grind that had you whimpering into the pillow.

His hands were everywhere, one still a tight band around your waist, holding you steady, the other kneading the flesh of your arse, his fingers digging in with a perfectly balanced edge of pain and pleasure.

He was speaking in your ear, a low, continuous stream of filth and praise that you could barely process, the meaning lost to the overwhelming sensation of him.

“So fucking perfect…been wanting this…have no idea, do you?…the things I want to do to you…”

The second climax hit you like a wave, gentler but deeper than the first, a slow, full-body shudder that drew a long, keening moan from the depths of your soul.

He felt it, a deep, guttural groan escaping him as your body milked his. His pace stuttered, his fingers digging into your hip, and with a final, desperate, beautiful shudder, he spent himself again, his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath a hot, humid storm against your skin.

For a long time, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. He was still buried inside you, his weight a comforting, monumental presence. Finally, he stirred, pressing a slow, soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder before carefully withdrawing and dealing with the condom. He cleaned you up with a warm, damp washcloth from the tiny ensuite, his touch now gentle.

He tossed it aside and crawled back into the narrow bed, pulling the duvet over both of you and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

The silence was different now, a warm, drowsy cocoon. Your mind was a blissful, static blank. Then, a thought, mundane and hilarious in its inappropriateness, bubbled up.

“If Daeron kicks in his sleep,” you murmured into the dark, your voice hoarse, “won’t he notice you’re gone?”

Aerion’s chest vibrated with a silent laugh against your back. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I could go back and give him a few more kicks, just to cover my tracks. But he wouldn’t notice a dragon landing on the bed. The boy sleeps like the dead. Besides,” he said, his arm tightening around you, his voice dropping to a low, serious murmur, “I’m exactly where I’ve been trying to be all day. I’m not moving. Now, for the love of all the gods, stop overthinking and go to sleep. We have another whole day of Kiera’s playlist to endure tomorrow, and I intend to spend the entire night thoroughly wearing you out.”

maekar

Maekar maintains a stern temperament with all except you. You see how he scolds the Ser’s, maesters, his brothers, the stewards, all who test his patience. A stare, a smack at the back of the head, a shove. He towers above them all. There is only an infinity of love and patience for you.

In the moments shared just between you, when he thinks no one is watching, nor can they see, he pats you on the backside, grazes his hand against the side of your neck. Maybe even a peck on the cheek. A tug by the wrist into a dark corner to embrace you and kiss you. Though, even when he is in one of his impatient mood's and feeling argumentative, with you, he never is cruel, nor is he vicious.

The two-hour ride to the woods to celebrate Rhaegal's Nameday, a great hunt and feast. Maekar joined you in the carriage instead of riding with the others by horse. He had been well-behaved initially, but you knew better than all, that it started with a little bicker. A little teasing. And then heated contest.

"I told you to wear your red gown today." He started with, a mere fifteen minutes into the journey.

"Darling this is my red gown." You answered immediately, as you tried looking out through the cracks in the window. You could just about make out the blur of the green trees.

"You know which gown I meant. That is maroon." Maekar was playing with a tassel on his tunic as he watched you ease back on your side of the carriage.

"Maroon is red. You should have been more specific." You hummed and after a beat. "Oh I thought you meant this one anyway. It is the newest one."

"Hmm." He grumbled something incoherent, you never tried to ask what he was saying - there was no point. Maekar flickered his eyebrow up in thought.

"Why don't you leave me out a gown specifically. And I can please you as you so desire." Only you could say something so waspish to Maekar and make him semi-hard. Especially with that teasing smile on your face.

"They all come off you the same." He tore his eyes off you for a moment, trying to calm himself. Just watching you red-faced from the heat in the carriage made him hard.

"Please do free me of it.” You exhaled as you used your hand to fan yourself. “It's frightfully hot today Maekar."

He watched in silence, a bead of sweat rolled out from the bottom of your hairline, down the side of your next and across your collar bone. You caught his eye, watching you, then, and he launched off from his seat.

His hands grasped your face first, and you felt his lips crashing against yours desperately. Maekar kissed you, a gentle grunt escaping him as your hands held his face mostly out of support. You had not been intimate for some time; Maekar had been busy assisting Baelor with all matters across the realm. He would not say specifics, he never did, so you learned quickly to never ask. By the time Maekar would get to bed you were fast asleep. He couldn't bring himself to wake you when you looked so peaceful, so angellic.

"Mm- fuck Maekar." You groaned as he bit your lip in the intensity. He pulled away slightly hoping he had not made your lip bleed.

Maekar's tongue soon pushed against yours until you laughed. You spread your legs so he could rest against you, but you both slipped from the seat to the floor of the carriage when it rocked unexpectedly. Maekar pushed his groin into you as he kissed you, he was an unstoppable force sucking your tongue unabashedly loudly. His torso pressed into you to make sure you would not roll around the carriage.

"We cannot- we cannot do this here." You panted between kisses, breathless almost, and he finally tore his mouth from yours, instead planting kissing across to your neck, down to your collar bone.

Maekar groaned as he sucked at you, kissed you, moving all over your body. He bunched up the skirt of your dress, burying himself in material to get to your body.

"Oh yes we can." Maekar grunted as you felt his facial hair against the bare skin of your inner thigh. He kissed you slowly, intimately, and you sighed at the sensation. His hands massaging your thighs warmed you like the summer heat could never. You could not see his face, nor anticipate what he was going to do next.

You felt a single finger at your entrance, making you flinch and grab the door handle to the carriage. Maekar tickled you, as he parted your briefs slowly, his middle finger slipped against you slowly, separating your hot wet folds. You bit your lip as he then rolled his tongue between your legs, the tip of his tongue moving cruelly but deliciously slowly. You moaned with your lips pressed together, your brow tensing, almost frowning down as you watched Maekar's hulking form below, half hidden under your skirt.

"You're going to make me come in this carriage if you keep doing that." You whispered, though the sound of the horses, the carriage itself were loud enough to cover the sounds of you both.

"That's the intent." Maekar spoke against you, his tongue continuing to lick you, flick you.

You arched your back as you felt the sensation build and erupt, as you clenched your thighs against Maekar's head. You were unable to keep your cries of pleasure quiet, gripping whatever you could that was in reach, with Maekar ensuring your legs were spread wide for him.

"God's, Maekar, you're-" You stammered, panting, sweating, chest heaving below you. "Oh Maekar!" You cried and the carriage stopped to a halt.

You froze as did Maekar, his tongue had flicked your clit to an inch of her life. He kissed you between your legs and emerged from your skirt, red faced and flustered. Maekar sat in his seat as you were flustered, desperately trying to get back into yours.

The carriage door swung open as the guard, Ser Link emerged from the sunlight. He blinked, regarding you both. Maekar smoothed down his messed platinum hair as you tried to regulate your breathing, your full chest heaving.

"Is everything okay my Prince, Princess? I thought I 'eard crying."

valarr

Valarr kept his distance from you initially and you thought he was upset with the arrangement once it had been officially announced. It was both out of your control but as you began to spend more time alone with him he warmed to you, and you couldn’t get him off of you. The night of your ceremony was exhausting but passionate, and a sign of things to come.

Valarr had many obligations and as the First Born Son to the First in Line to the Throne, there were many duties for him to perfect. Especially under Baelor. He returned to your chamber late into the night often, but he always woke you in the best of ways.

You woke to his lips against yours, the sweetest way to be stirred. Valarr knelt into your bed and climbed in to join you under the sheets, already stripped and ready for you.

"Where were you this night?" You asked quietly, stretching a little as Valarr ran his hand up the side of your body across the ridges of your ribs, to the base of your arm pit. You shook from the ticklish sensation.

"There's much unrest at Iron's Spear. Father wanted my ear on the Small Council this eve." Valarr spoke so eloquently. Women were not for council meetings, or many things for that matter. He knew it intrigued you to no end and kept you informed of all that he knew. It reassured you, to know he entrusted you with such information.

As Valarr spoke he lifted your night dress slowly from the hem, bunching the material up as he pulled it over your head. Valarr rested his body onto yours and kissed you lovingly, running his fingers through your hair as you became free of clothing. You felt safest under the sheets with Valarr, it were as if nothing could harm either of you. Your hands worked their way up his body, from his plump backside, up his smooth back, around to his downy chest, up to his shoulders. Oh how the others had no idea how hairy Valarr truly was. This was all for you. Over the past few months he had grown strong from his training, on the horse, sword play, archery, to name a few. You took to watching him fight Aerion in the courtyard despite the trainer being very much much against it. You imagined it when Valarr was away from your bed, and you were alone, under the sheets as your fingers explored your body - the vision pleasured you deeply. Endlessly.

Valarr rolled his groin into you teasingly as you kissed, enough to make you gasp involuntarily into his mouth. His tongue melted against yours, almost becoming one. You couldn't help but smile as you felt him pushing down into you. It had been some months since you wed and through experimenting the many positions with Valarr, you found riding him on top was not only your favourite but also his. He would start on top of you, to get you wet and ready for him, then gently hold you as he rolled onto his back, and you were straddling him. Valarr did the same that night, each time becoming more smooth with his movements.

You rested your hands, your fingers into his hairy torso, kissing him and running your fingers up the side of his neck, through his luscious soft brown hair. Valarr sucked at your bottom lip noisily, groaning as you positioned his eager cock inside you. You were impatient. Once Valarr initiated, you unravelled so easily and happily. You felt no reason to play hard to get when you wanted it as much as he did. If not more.

Valarr held securely onto your waist, ensuring he was deep inside you and rolling you back and forth, rather than moving out of you. You sounded impossibly wet, as always; this was the effect he had on you. It was all enough to make you hum and bite your lip. You sat up and held your breasts; he loved watching you play with yourself, touch yourself. Valarr maintained the pace and felt your thighs clench against him as you finally came. You lifted your chin to the ceiling but he pulled you to him, taking your face so he could kiss you, his Wife.

daeron

You had convinced yourself Daeron hadn't been paying attention to you, listening to the conversations you engaged in whilst walking the gardens of the castle. And as you finally resigned to accept that he was too preoccupied with the thought of wine, or ale, when his next cup was, he surprised you in the most glorious of ways.

A painting of a view from home you had talked about missing dearly. A dress you had grown fond of, seeing another Lady at the Keep wear; only it was unique and embellished, more in line with the shades you wore. A necklace he believed you would adore, and right he was. You would wear it to sleep, you even wore it in the bath. As Daeron came into your chamber to surprise you with it, you were overcome with emotion, gaping at him as if he were your shooting star.

"Daeron, you-" Your bottom lip wobbled as he unhooked it and draped it around your neck, hooking the clasp back into one of the loops. You regarded yourself in the mirror momentarily before wiping tears from your eyes. It had been a hard few days; you had hardly seen him and worried he had gone missing.

"Only the best for my Princess." He gazed at you as his fingers gently grazed the skin of your shoulders, squeezing you encouragingly. "My light."

You had pounced on him, taking him by total surprise. The pair of you collapsed onto the bed and your mouth was all over him. Your sweet high pitched moans echoed around the room and Daeron clasped onto your face tightly, his tongue diving into your mouth, rolling across your tongue. He moaned back, as your hands explored his body, right to his crotch. You smiled at just feeling the size of him. One of the biggest in Westeros, no? You had posed many a night to yourself.

Daeron panted as you massaged him over his maroon breeches. You were overcome with love, passion for this man. Your Prince. He twirled your hair around his fingers as you slipped your hand into his breeches, the base of your palm stretching down his length, fingers around his solid balls that were almost as big as the palm of your hands alone. You helped him remove them from his waist, and freed his cock for you to enjoy. Daeron leant back against the bed, your lips kissing him, rubbing against him. He closed his eyes, but was desperate to watch your every move.

"Do you like your new gift?" He asked you, and you nodded without word. You released your tongue against him and licked him from base to tip slowly, and then pushed him as far as your throat could take.

Your afternoon was a heated mess of moans, tearing at clothes, rolling on the bed until you were almost dazed and dizzy, sweating and trembling. Daeron was on top one moment, his toned torso sliding against yours as he fucked you. You were then on top of him, digging your fingernails into his chest, leaving crescent-moon shaped indents in his pale skin. You cried out as he pushed his hand against your lower stomach. Daeron had pulled you into his lap as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, your mouths, your tongues unable to move apart from one another.

You had finished on the floor by the balcony, enjoying the sea breeze against your sweating bodies. Though he had come, he remained inside you, panting and exhaling loudly on top of you. You kissed the side of his face, running your hands through his soft dark blonde hair. This Prince, so unassuming, so endlessly loving.

aerion

The first few months of being married to Aerion were a lustful, passionate blur. You had barely left the castle and initially struggled to walk down the hallway without adjusting your underclothes. Your small clothes. Aerion was determined to keep you satisfied and all to himself, like at times the two of you were inseparable. Bound by an unbreakable, unseen tie.

Aerion was called to join his father on a trip to Mistwood, which made you distraught and alleviated simultaneously. Your body yearned for rest, but as you slept soundlessly on the first night, the second you gazed up at the ceiling of your bed, wondering how you would get through the coming seven days. The nights were hot and made you restless, as you lay with the sheets kicked down to your feet so you could feel the breeze against your neglected skin.

Supper's were peaceful, with most of the men away in Mistwood, except Baelor, who had come from Dragonstone, and Rhaegal who had always matters to attend to. His presence reassured you and you enjoyed his company, especially as he spoke so infrequently. On the fifth night he informed you Maekar had sent correspondence; they were delayed and would be back in a week. In your chamber you kept busy until you could no longer keep your eyes open, reading or sewing, or even painting when you had the patience for it. Only one night you cried, you allowed yourself to look up at the night sky and wonder if he were looking up at the moon, thinking of you too.

When the day finally came, you joined the others at the gate, anticipating their return. A rush of adrenaline riddled your body as you watched the procession, and felt your heart race at the sight of Aerion, gliding up on his horse and dismounting at ease. He came to you first, his platinum blonde hair fluffed from the wind.

"Princess." Aerion kissed you once, his cheeks flushed pink, as you tried maintaining your excitement. You had put on your new black and blood-red embroidered dress for it. Even seeing Maekar, you smiled at him until he rubbed your shoulder encouragingly.

You returned to your chamber at Aerion's side, your hands behind your back as you walked slowly, listening to Aerion describe the journey home, Mistwood, the tedious Lord's.

"It sounds wonderful." You said, intrigued by how Aerion had recalled it.

As you stepped through the door, Aerion closed it behind him and had started undressing before you. You watched for a moment, curious at his eagerness, as he undressed until he remained in only his red undershirt. His throbbing cock was desperate to come out.

"Take your clothes off. Or I will tear them from you." He exhaled as if he had been running uphill.

You stripped slowly for him until you were in only your stockings. As you stood up straight Aerion was at you, taking your face in his hands so suddenly you almost fell back.

Aerion's lips were forceful, passionate, as he took over your mouth, his tongue rolling into you, making you moan for him.

"Aerion."

He lifted you up onto the bed and climbed after you, guiding you back with his lips still attached to yours, determined not to break.

"My Princess." He exhaled into your mouth, as you felt his hands over your body, around your waist, down to your backside to bring you closer to him. Aerion smacked you gently and pulled away noisily from your mouth. "Turn around." He grazed his index finger across your wet bottom lip.

You turned away from him and knew then how Aerion wanted to have you. His hands grasped your backside tightly and pulled you back into him hard. You felt the tip of his erection glide over your wetness, separating your folds, as you rested your elbows into the bedding. It sent goosebumps across your back, and you pressed your mouth against the back of your forearm.

"Did you hate waiting for me?" Aerion asked, and you nodded, your platinum hair tickling your back.

As he thrusted his hard cock into you, the time apart had evaporated and it were as if he had never left you at all. The sensation of him filling you so determinedly, feeling his hands over your soft supple skin made you grab fistfuls of your bedding, squeezing tight enough you thought you may break your nails. You cried out into the bed as he spanked you, hard enough until the room filled with the sounds of smacking of skin. You arched your back like a cat as his rhythm picked up and he pounded against you harder. Aerion very rarely was gentle with you in these intimate moments, but it worked. You adored him for it.

"Did you miss me?" Aerion panted loudly, his hands both at your backside, squeezing hard, .

You lifted your head up and nodded, flexing your hands out of fists.

"Every minute."

Aerion smacked your backside again and turned you over, desperate to see your face again as he teetered on the verge of coming. He spread your legs as he settled between them and massaged your breasts. You gazed up at his face, his steely eyes as he pushed his hard cock into you again. You held your breath until you knew he was fully inside you, and finally you cried out, as he hit that spot that you could never determine if it hurt, or was painfully good.

He scrunched his nose as he thrust into you, his platinum hair messed from the intensity, the physicality. Aerion thumbed your clit as he fucked you relentlessly, as you had dreamt of since he had left. Your hands scratched his hairy thighs gently, your fingernails leaving pink lines in his skin. You knew it wouldn't be long before you came, especially when he had you this way. Seeing his face look down at yours, knowing he was pleasuring you so intensely. You bit your bottom lip, your chest heaving. Aerion had tried to make it so you both came at the same time; he usually was first, but it was never due to his lack of trying. This time you came first, clenching around his thick cock, lifting your chin up to cry out in relief as that indescribable feeling washed over your body. Within a minute Aerion released inside you, his fingers digging deep enough into your hips to leave bruises that would emerge later. Aerion ran his hands through his hair then and collapsed on top of you, his lips keen to still have you, kiss you, taste you. He licked you, from bottom lip to the tip of your nose.

As you panted against one another, you held the back of his head as it rested on your collar bone. Aerion was still inside you, and unbeknownst to you both it was in that moment you conceived your first.

baelor

Even before your ceremony you knew how busy a man Baelor was. There was much weighing on his shoulders, and an unfathomable amount on his mind. Baelor enjoyed sharing a space with you at Dragonstone, even if you were doing separate things. As you embroidered, he read and responded to letters, but when you yawned and stretched in your chair, his eyes lifted to admire you in the peace you two shared.

"Late is the hour." Baelor's rich voice was lax at this time, and you knew he only spoke when it mattered. "You should return to our chamber. I will join you soon."

You gazed up at him from your book sleepily and slowly inhaled, wondering how much longer he would be up for. You rose from your seat and moved to stand behind Baelor, hugging him gently with your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He squeezed you back then turned to kiss you, holding your face with his hand.

You settled into bed, the pillow cool against your cheek, just as you liked. On your side, turned away from the door too anxious to face it. As you began to drift to sleep, a creak in the bed stirred you back, the bedding shifted to Baelor's weight as he joined you.

His hand caressed you from behind, at your waist, he squeezed you reassuringly. The air smelled of extinguished candles, his body of his natural musk. You felt his hand at your hip, massaging you, moving down your thighs between your legs. Smiling, you pushed your face into your pillow, enjoying the sensation of his hands on you. You liked not having to do much when it came to foreplay, Baelor was all over it. He initiated mostly, and he would touch, kiss you like his life depended on it.

"You are still awake." Baelor spoke softly, you could feel it against the side of your ear.

"As are you." You smiled though he could not see your face.

You felt his body against your back, his groin gently moving against your backside. A sweet almost inaudible moan escaped your mouth as you felt his hands on you. His fingers grazed your backside, sending goosebumps rippling over you. Baelor lifted your leg to rest on him, and he found your sweet wetness, his fingers tickling you. You lifted your chin at the sensation, as he then slipped his finger inside you.

"Mm." You exhaled as he put his other arm underneath your neck to support you.

Baelor was unable to keep himself from you longer, putting your legs back together, he adjusted his dark veiny cock, sliding against the back of you, his tip gently pressing against your entrance. He wanted to fuck you from behind, you felt tighter, you moaned sweeter, more intensely. As he pushed into you, you gripped the side of the bed and felt that familiar but overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over you. Baelor held you by the waist with one hand and slowly bent his other arm underneath your neck, gently bringing it in as if he were to strangle you with his forearm but he stopped. He let you rest against him, kiss him. You resisted the urge to bite him as Baelor quickly built up his pace, fucking you harder and more adoringly. He exhaled against you, feeling you tremble, your pussy clench around him. He felt you press your backside into him and he couldn't help but smile.

"You like that, hm?" He told you.

"I love it." You sounded as if you were in pain, but it couldn't be further from the truth. Your cries rippled against his forearm.

Baelor grunted against you as he thrust harder, deeper and you gritted your teeth, stifling a high pitch moan as best you could.

"Moan for me Princess." Baelor spoke. "Don't hold it in."

You nodded, you did not care to keep it inside you any longer. You did not care his guard could hear, or your daughter in the next room may wake from the sounds. Selfishly, you wanted to make the castle walls vibrate from the moans of pleasure.

Baelor pulled out from you and guided you onto your back as he collapsed on top of you, his hands moving your messed hair from your face to see you properly. He spread your legs to rest against your body, your hands got to his wet cock before he could, massaging him and pulling him to be inside you once again. As he entered you again, you closed your eyes and tried to lift your chin, a high-pitched moan emitting from you. Baelor took your face as he began to fuck you, squeezing you just enough to make you open your eyes again.

"Look at me, my darling." He panted as he then finally kissed you.

This week had been a slow-moving torture of missed connections. Maekar would stumble into your shared chambers long after the moon had reached its zenith, his face etched with the day's battles, only to find you deep in an exhausted sleep. When you woke, the space beside you was cold, his scent a fading ghost on the pillows. It was a chasm of silence and solitude, and you had grown tired of it. That morning, you had summoned Maekar's steward. "You will tell my husband," you instructed, your voice leaving no room for argument, "that his work ends today at the seventh hour. He will join me for dinner. He will not be late." The steward, a man who had seen the your husband’s frustrations at the constant near-misses, simply bowed. "Of course, my lady."

You spent the afternoon orchestrating the evening. The kitchens were a hive of activity, preparing everything Maekar favoured. You wanted to care for him, to wash the week's exhaustion from his bones with food and wine and quiet affection.

Dinner was a success. The tension in his shoulders finally unwound, and the lines around his pale violet eyes softened as he spoke of his day, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the table. He fed you from his own fork, his fingers lingering on your lips, a silent promise of what was to come. When you finally retired to your bedchamber, the air was thick with unspoken need. The week of abstinence had been a strain on you both; your life together was a passionate, physical one, and this dry spell had left an ache.

"You have missed your husband, I think," he teased, his voice a low growl as he pulled you into his arms. His silver-blond hair brushed against your cheek, and the faint, coarse scratch of his beard was a familiar, thrilling sensation against your skin.

You wound your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. "And you, my lord," you murmured against his mouth, "have you missed your wife?" His answer was a kiss, deep and hungry. He backed you toward the bed, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, undressing you as he went, his touch igniting a fire low in your belly. You fell onto the soft furs, a tangle of limbs and growing urgency. His mouth moved from yours to your throat, nipping and sucking, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"Maekar," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "I did something… for you."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark with lust and curiosity. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Did you now?" he rumbled. "Show me."

You sat up and gripped the hem of your silky shift. In one fluid motion you pulled it over your head and cast it aside. The firelight kissed your skin, and you watched his face, your own breath held tight in your chest. His smile faltered. His eyes, which had been filled with a hungry heat, widened slightly. The look on his face was a flash of pure, unadulterated dismay.

"What is this?" He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the juncture of your thighs. "Who did this to you?"

A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. "You… you do not like it?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his stupor. He saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lower lip, and his expression immediately softened. He reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "No," he said quickly, then corrected himself. "I mean, yes. You are beautiful, perfection, as always."He sat up fully, his muscular torso bathed in firelight. "But I love the look of you, all of you."

You could not help the small pout that formed on your lips.

He saw your disappointment and leaned in, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to your mouth. "You are spectacular," he insisted, his voice a low, earnest murmur against your lips. "But please, do not let that butcher touch you again."

A small, watery laugh escaped you at his dramatic choice of words. The tension in the room broke, replaced by something more complex, a mixture of your lingering disappointment and his overwhelming affection. He pulled you back down onto the furs, his mouth finding yours again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more apologetic and tender. But the week of built-up need was a powerful force. His hands began to roam again, rediscovering your body, and the heat between you began to rebuild, slowly at first, then with a sudden, ferocious intensity. He rolled on top of you, and when he entered you it was with a groan of pure relief.

He began to move, his strokes deep and punishing, and as he took you, as he watched his thick, glistening cock disappear into your body, something shifted in him. He had been dismayed, yes, but now he was transfixed. Without the soft, neat curls he could see everything. He could see how the perfect, swollen folds of your cunt spread around his length, see how utterly soaked you were for him, your slickness coating him, shining in the firelight. The visual was filthy, intimate, and undeniably erotic. He could see every detail of your body's response to him, and it drove him wild with a possessive lust.

"Gods," he grunted, his rhythm growing faster, harder. He gripped your hips, pulling you onto him with each thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the quiet chamber. "How long," he panted, his gaze locked on where you were joined, "until it grows back?"

"Four moons or so," you gasped, your hands clutching at his powerful shoulders, your body arching to meet his brutal pace.

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him. "Well, there is no point in waiting around." He drove into you, his hips snapping hard against yours. "We might as well make the most of this." The sheer, unexpected amusement in his voice, mixed with the power of his thrusts, sent you over the edge, and you cried out his name as your release tore through you. He followed you moments later with a hoarse shout, burying himself deep inside you and spending inside you, marking you as his.

sunlight was already filtering through the blinds, casting long, lazy shadows across the room, but the warmth radiating from the body next to you felt much more potent.

bobby was awake before you were, which was a rare sight, pressing soft lazy kisses against your forehead and the nape of your neck. it was a grounding, intimate sort of wake-up call that had you melting back into the pillows, not quite ready to face the day ahead. when he finally pulled away, you felt the sudden emptiness of the space beside you, but you were still too sleepy to protest.

he slipped out of bed, the mattress springs creaking softly in protest, and padded barefoot toward the bathroom. you trailed after him a few minutes later after you slipped into the oversized t-shirt he’d left draped over the back of the chair. it swallowed you whole, smelling unmistakably of him, and you felt a sudden wave of domestic contentment wash over you.

in the bathroom mirror, you stood practically staring at him shirtless, blonde hair still messy from sleep.

you leaned against the sink counter next to him as he brushed his teeth, watching him in the reflection. he hands you your toothbrush without even asking, the gesture is so automatic that neither of you think about it anymore.

soon you're both standing side by side at the sink, brushing your teeth in comfortable silence. the morning light spills through the small window above the bathtub, painting everything gold.

he finished quickly, spat into the sink, he turned off the water and turned to you, “gonna go make breakfast,” he says, his hand rubbing over hip in soothing motions, “you want coffee, or you good?”

“no coffee, thanks,” you mutter, he gives you one last look before reaching back to give your ass a firm, playful slap then wandering out to make breakfast.

you finish up and pad back the bed, sliding back under the covers. you’re not quite ready to fully start your day yet, not when the world outside feels so far away. the bed dips as he returns, a bowl of cereal in his hand, and you watch him from the blankets.

he’s shirtless, the morning light catching the lines of his chest and the dusting of hair that leads down toward the waistband of his pajama pants. he’s slurping the cereal loudly, the sound loud in the quiet room, but you barely notice. you can’t take your eyes off him. he looks so good like this. so effortlessly handsome.

you watched him finish his cereal, the spoon scraping against the ceramic bowl, the sound echoing in the quiet room. he set the empty bowl on the nightstand, his movements languid, still heavy with sleep.

“you are so sexy.” you say straight up, his eyes found yours in the dim light, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.

"am i?" he drawled, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk. he set the bowl down with a soft clink and shifted, turning his full attention to you. the languid sleepiness evaporated from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, predatory glint.

“mhmm” you hummed as he leaned closer.

then he reaches out, hooking a finger into the collar of the oversized t-shirt you wore, his shirt, and gave it a little tug. “why don't you come over here and show me just how sexy you think i am?"

he didn't wait for an answer. he closed the remaining distance, his lips crashing against yours.

"come on," he muttered against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "put in a little work for me babe." he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze dark and intense. "get on and ride me."

he guided you, his hands strong and sure as he positioned you to straddle his lap. you could feel how hard he was already, his arousal pressing hot and heavy against you slightly.

"that's it," he praised, his hands gripping your hips, encouraging you to move. "grind that wet pussy on me, yeahhhhhh. just like that."

you started to move, a slow roll of your hips that had him groaning, his head falling back against the headboard. his eyes had a look of pure, unadulterated lust.

the oversized t-shirt was now rucked up around your waist, every nerve ending was on fire, screaming for his touch, his weight, his anything. his pajama pants doing a piss-poor job of hiding the now full on erection straining against the fabric.

"get your cock out, bobby-" you demanded, your voice a raw, desperate whine. you tried to grind your hips up toward him, to get any kind of friction.

"patience, baby," he cooed, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. he leaned forward slightly, the movement causing the bulge in his pants to brush against your core, and you let out a choked sob.

"bobby, please!" you cried, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. your entire body felt like a live wire, humming with a desperate, frantic energy. "if you don't shove your dick in me in the next 5 seconds i'm gonna scream-"

"fuck- alright, hold on-" his composure finally cracked, he fumbled with the drawstring of his pajama pants, his fingers clumsy in his haste. yanking the pants down just enough to free himself.

he was hard and flushed in his hand, the rosy pink tip already glistening with precum. he gave himself a few rough pumps with his fist, his eyes locked on your exposed, needy cunt, and the sight of him so undone by your desperation sent a fresh wave of arousal through you.

"spread your legs wider," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "wider. let me see that pretty little pussy."

you complied instantly, you opened yourself to him. he didn't wait another second. he lined himself up with your entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing you, and then, with one sharp, powerful thrust, he was inside you.

the sudden, brutal stretch of him stole your breath. his hips flush against yours, his balls pressed against your ass. he gave you a moment to adjust, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow.

"fuck, you're so wet," he groaned, his voice strained.

he started to move you then, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm that had you seeing stars. each thrust up his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that made your toes curl.

"is this what you wanted?" he panted, his voice a raw, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body.

his fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips, hard enough to leave bruises, using the leverage to pull you down onto him with every upward snap of his own hips. the sound was obscene, a wet, rhythmic slapping that echoed in the quiet room, mingling with the creak of the bed springs and your own ragged breaths.

"you wanted me to fuck you like this? hmm?”

you could only moan in response, a high, desperate sound that was half pleasure, half surrender.

your hands had flown up to tangle in the messy blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your fingers clenching and unclenching with each powerful thrust.

the angle was perfect, the head of his cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep inside you with every stroke, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. all you could do was hold on and take it, your body a pliant instrument for his pleasure.

suddenly, he stopped. his hips stilled, and he was just buried inside you, throbbing and hot. the sudden absence of movement was a jolt, a denial that made you whine in protest. he pulled his head back, his hands still gripping your hips, forcing you to stillness.

"hey," he said, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze of your arousal. "answer me. m'talking to you."

the command cut through the fog. you blinked, trying to focus your vision, trying to form words. "y-yes!" you stammered, your voice trembling with the effort of speaking. "yes! i said yes!"

a slow grin spread across his face, a look of satisfaction. "yeahhh," he breathed, the sound a low, approving rumble. he gave you one last, hard grind of his hips, making you gasp, before he abruptly lifted you off him as if you weighed nothing. he maneuvered you, his hands firm and directive, until you were on your hands and knees in the center of the bed.

"get on all fours," he commanded, his hand coming down in a sharp, stinging smack on your exposed ass. you yelped, more from surprise than pain. "ass up, c'mon. present that pretty little pussy to me."

you scrambled to obey, arching your back and lowering your shoulders to the mattress, pushing your ass up into the air. you felt incredibly exposed, vulnerable, and the feeling sent a fresh wave of liquid heat pooling in your core. you could hear the rustle of fabric as he moved behind you, and then his hands were on you again, spreading your cheeks apart.

"look at that, baby" he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. he ran a thumb through your slick folds, circling your entrance but not entering, teasing you until you were squirming, pushing back against him in silent supplication.

he positioned himself at your entrance and, with one powerful, relentless thrust, he was buried to the hilt. the new angle was deeper, more intense, and you cried out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against your ass with each brutal stroke.

"that's it," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he fucked into you. "take it-”

his words were filthy, degrading, and they only made you want him more. you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, your body moving in a primal rhythm as he chased his release, dragging you along with him.

he leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth next to your ear. "come on, babe," he whispered through loud pants, moaning and huffing into your ear. "cum, let me feel you cream on my cock. fucking do it."

“ohmygodohmygodbobby!-” you moan loudly,

"shhh, shut up, shut up," he suddenly hissed, his hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack echoing in the quiet room. "you're going to wake everybody up-"

"god, you're so fucking tight," he groaned, removing his hand from your mouth to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back. "such a good girl, ive got such a good ass girl-"

the condescending tone was still there, but now it was laced with a desperate need that mirrored your own.

you buried your face in the sheets, muffling your cries. your hands fisting in the sheets as he drove into you, his thrusts became more desperate and his hand coming down to rub your pulsing clit. "cum, cum f’me," he panted, his voice strained.

and with his words, the coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure washing over you in intense, dizzying waves. your vision went white, your body arching as you cried out his name. he followed you over the edge moments later, his warm cum pumping into you in spurts, leaking out on the sides of his cock.

he pressed a soft, almost tender kiss to one of your ass cheeks, a stark contrast to the brutal fucking he'd just given you. you felt the bed shift as he moved, and then the sudden, empty feeling as he pulled out. a moment later, you felt the warm, sticky evidence of his release begin to trickle down your inner thigh.

and then it hit you. a jolt of cold, sobering reality that cut through the post-orgasmic haze.

"bobby," you said, your voice flat as you collapsed onto your side, pulling a pillow against your chest. "you didn't use a condom."

he looked back at you, "hey," he said, shrugging as he grabbed his pajama pants from the floor. "you were the one who got all horny and demanding. 'shove your dick in me,' i believe were your exact words. what was i supposed to do? say no?"

the sheer audacity of it made you sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest.

"i was supposed to say no? you're the one who forgot! god, you're such an asshole," you snapped, the anger warring with the lingering pleasure still humming through your veins. "now i have to go get a plan b."

"alright, alright, calm down," he said, his tone dismissive as he pulled his pants back on, not even bothering with underwear. he stood up, running a hand through his messy hair. "i'll go get you one."

he disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the sound of the faucet running. you laid back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the anger slowly deflating into a weary resignation. a few minutes later, he returned with a warm, wet rag.

he sat on the edge of the bed, his touch surprisingly gentle as he carefully cleaned you up, wiping away the sticky mess between your thighs. he didn't say anything, just focused on his task, his brow furrowed in concentration.

when he was done, he tossed the rag toward the hamper.

"no, i'll go, i think we have one in the medicine cabinet" you said, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. you needed the air. you needed a moment away from him and his infuriatingly casual attitude toward potentially life-altering consequences.

"hurry back."

you got up, pulling on the oversized t-shirt and a pair of your own underwear that had been discarded on the floor.

you padded out of the bedroom and over to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, pulling open the doors and rummaging through the different medicine boxes. nothing.

and that's when you heard it.

his cerulean blue eyes were far more striking than the clear sky above, effortlessly demanding that he remain the center of attention. he wore a shirt that seemed cropped and loose fitting jeans with knees worn to a faded white, his skin giving off a warm, spicy note of sweat. long arms were smeared with a tracing of grease that contrasted sharply with his ivory pallor, though the sight offered a silent understanding of exactly where he had come from.

“if it wouldn't cost me a kidney, sure” you hummed, taking a cautious step back. a low chuckle escaped him as he stepped into your space, his smile dazzling under the hot sun. from behind the roadside fence, his lower half had been obscured, but now you noticed the tool belt resting heavily on those narrow hips, various wrenches clattering softly with his movements. a mechanic, then.

he made no effort to hide the way his gaze dragged down your legs, mapping their contour and the exposed skin before rising to where your denim shorts began. then, he winked. you watched the slow flutter of his long eyelashes and the slight furrow of his brown brows in mild concentration, his plump lower lip caught between straight teeth as the sinew in his straining biceps rippled.

he knew full well that you were watching, and he played along flawlessly. voice emerging a bit gravelly, dropping into a deliberate flirt “i'll give you a good discount, beautiful”

the car obeyed his lithe fingers, and after less than an hour, he finally pulled away, wiping his hands on the grease stained cloth dangling from his belt. then he motioned for you to see his handiwork. turning the key still resting in the ignition, you listened as the engine purred to life, loud, steady, and healthier than it had sounded in ages.

cat that ate a canary looking grin on his face said it all, his defined jawline tightened, legs spread wide in the seat, and his eyes narrowed in a way that screamed how desperately he wanted to be praised. you did not hesitate as you leaned into his space, movement anchoring his gaze to the swell of your cleavage, pupils blowing wide.

by the time you murmured your innocent question “so, what should i call my hero?” his throat bobbed with a dry swallow, a flash of fangs gleaming as his voice dropped into a raspy low “uh, aerion. .” and you could swear his earlobes burned a deep, ruddy red.

it was remarkably easy to fluster him, and the blush had deepened to crimson as he railed you into the backseat. your ass curved high, meeting every relentless forward snap and bouncing off his pelvic bone. he's white even down there, which is arousing, your slick leaving a shimmering sheen over coarse hairs. aerion's hips clawed raw with nail thin lines.

car's warmth suffocating, your tits squished down and cunt stuffed full, as his long cock plowed in and out your clenching, drenched hole, ass bruising at the force. you whined and moaned, tightening just to hear him groan, cursing “gods — so tight, perfect pussy” and helping your hips roll, grabby fingers sunk into their curve. kneading the flesh and relishing in how your gummy walls fluttered in repsonse to quickening pace, turning sloppy and rutting.

breaching you on further, swollen tip hitting that sensitive spot deep, one hand sneaking between your shaking legs to thumb at the pulsing, puffy nub until you hiccup. you blabber his name all the while, and aerion enjoys it even more than the gushing confines of your pussy. cock throbbing the louder you moan for him, sweat running down his rippling abdomen.

aerion had left his number as a fresh contact in your phone while you cleaned him, nostrils flaring and breath hitching as your throat worked around his cock. licking away every drop of cum that had scattered down his girth in pearly beads when he pulled out to spill on your lower back.

cheeks hollowed, your tongue tracked the bulging veins and weeping slit, teasing a low, sharp hiss from his lips as his hips bucked instinctively against your mouth. you paid no mind to the fierce bruises he had painted across your shoulder blades, his thumb stroking them idly as he leaned down to nuzzle for a kiss. rough palm framing your jaw to force your mouth wide as his tongue tangled around yours like a serpent.

he was a weird one, unpredictable, yet your mind swam with a pleasant lightheadedness. dabbing you clean between your thighs with his own sweaty shirt before tucking it into the belt, helping you pull your denim shorts back on. calloused hand lingering to palm one asscheek before he pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead, whispering “you still owe me”